


By Any Other Name

by justanotherStonyfan



Series: Hydra Trash Meme 2014 ongoing - blanket dub/non consent warnings [10]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Dubious Consent, Everyone Needs A Hug, M/M, Men Crying, Mental Health Issues, Mentions of Gaslighting, Past Brainwashing, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Rape Recovery, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, mentions of Alexander Pierce - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-01 09:34:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18333362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherStonyfan/pseuds/justanotherStonyfan
Summary: Steve figures it out eventually. It revolutionizes their relationship.Sam figures it out because he walks in and nearly murders Steve.This is how the Winter Soldier learned to trust a particular man who hates him sometimes.Actually, that’s not quite right - this is how Bucky Barnesrelearned to trust a manbecausehe pretends to hate him sometimes.





	By Any Other Name

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! It's been a while since I published hydra trash. 
> 
> This is based on a Trashchat concept - what if the Winter Soldier was made to think that he was treated like a valuable person, or told he could pick from two evils, or persuaded to take things like food and water but only in exchange for favors? Not only would it mean he feels he had much more choice in his actions than he was ever really allowed to have, it would also mean that any affection, or care, or general nice treatment feels like a trap. Sure, they're being nice, but what will they want in return? This is how they learn to move forward.
> 
> I might have written this differently once. Now it's got an actual hopeful ending - how about that? 
> 
> (For those of you who want to give this a go but aren't sure, spoilery summary will be in the end notes, as always.)
> 
> For Hobbit, who didn't seem to mind that I couldn't write soft Steve.

To start with, when Bucky came in from the cold, bedraggled and actually shivering - dirty, frightened - Steve had…

Steve had managed to hold back what felt like a deluge and wrap Bucky in his embrace instead. And then, terrified he’d overstepped with a man who might not understand, he’d stepped back. Bucky, with the ghost of a smile he used to wear proudly, shook his head.

“It’s okay,” he’d said. “I could use a hug.”

His voice had been rough, his hair greasy and tangled, and he’d smelled of grime and blood and sweat, his eyes down and his stubble unkempt. Steve could not have cared less.

Steve gave him clothes, towels, the bed was already made up, he started cooking, he started making mental lists of things he could pull together (or just go out and buy), and Bucky came back from his shower and kissed Steve. Then he’d pulled back, worried.

“Wait,” he said, “I shouldn’t have-”

But Steve pulled him back.

“It’s okay,” he’d said. “I could use a kiss.”

For a good while, Bucky improved day by day.

So, for a while, Steve was halfway between ecstatic and terrified. He couldn’t believe his luck. Bucky didn’t have fits, or fall over himself to follow orders, or revert into being the Winter Soldier, and Steve was desperate not to jinx it. He went from barely speaking to answering questions, from barely looking up to tracking all the time, from being unsure of when he should eat and shower to eating when he was hungry and showering every day. 

For a while, Steve kept him at arms’ length, frightened that the affection was part of his conditioning. But Bucky had stories - old tales of the children they’d once been. He talked to Steve at night about the way his love for Steve had changed.

“I’ve never not loved you,” he said. “It was a different love when we were kids, but I always loved you, just the same.”

It was impossible not to fall together after that. Quiet evenings and gentle hands, desperate kisses and long comfortable silences afterward, even if Bucky couldn’t spend every night with Steve. It was wonderful. It was more than Steve had ever hoped for coming out of the fight on the helicarrier.

Which is why, after six months, when Bucky started the slide backward, started to pull away, Steve not only didn’t want to point it out, he also didn’t want to push too hard. 

He had no idea what had triggered it. Bucky had settled, that was certain - he was spending his time where he wanted to be, and reading books and watching films, and taking long showers and long lie-ins but…

He’d retreated in on himself. He kept to himself and smiled less, spoke less, and it went on, dragging, day by day, until it had been weeks, and no improvement. Sam said they ought to try open spaces, maybe. Fields and flowers. Maybe teach him how to cook.

Bucky did not want to go out, did not want to learn how to cook - that much was obvious.

“Come on, Buck,” Steve said, trying to smile, trying to coax him forward. “Just…” he shrugged. “Boiled cabbage, how about that?” He laughed, a joke. Bucky didn’t smile. “O-Or whatever you want, Buck. Any- Anything at all, anything you want. What do you want? You…I mean, you can just have the cereal.”

Bucky looked at him. At the bowl of cereal. 

He ate the bowl of cereal.

And Bucky barely wanted to leave his room - it was a nice room, Steve couldn’t exactly blame him for wanting to stay in it. Bucky said to him in the first couple of weeks, when Steve asked if he liked the room, that anywhere was a step up from a cryotube. He also then hastily amended that the room was really nice, that it was lovely, it wasn’t just better than cryo, it was-

Steve assured him it was fine. That he wanted Bucky’s life to be better than one-step-above-Hydra, but he’d take any improvement as a starting point at least.

But now Bucky’s books went unread, his music unplayed. 

And then, one afternoon, Steve knocked on his door. Bucky called him to come in. And…Steve saw that he was sitting on the floor. And, actually, he was only sitting on the floor until he realized Steve was going to see him, and then he stood.

“You can sit on the floor in your own room, Buck,” Steve said. “Unless you wanna sit on the bed? I got ‘em special - ain’t too soft, I promise.”

Bucky looked at him. At the bed.

He sat down on the bed.

~

When he slept, he dreamed. He’d never dreamed in cryo.

_“We didn’t know she was still inside, Soldier,” he said, his voice gentle though his grip was not, “or else we wouldn’t have set fire to it. You should’a said something.”_

~

“We can watch either one,” Steve said softly, two hard DVD cases in his hand. “You can-”

_“Choose," said the blond man. He held a gun. It was hard to think over the sound of the sobbing. “Or I shoot them both.”_

_He couldn’t choose. The blond man would choose -_

“Neither,” Bucky said.“I want neither?”

“Aw, come on, pick _one_ Buck, tell me -”

_“-which one first-”_

“-at least?”

“The girl,” Bucky said, and Steve went very still, the smile sliding off his face.

“There’s,” he said, “no girl, Buck.”

_“That’s the wrong answer.”_

“Not the girl?” he said, and he tried to keep his breathing steady.

_“That’s the wrong answer.”_

“You pick,” Bucky said, shut his eyes, _the sobbing was loud._

“How about both?” Steve said.

That was right - Bucky remembered.

“Both…” he said.

_“Good,” Steve answered. No, not Steve, that wasn’t Steve. “Good.”_

He went to sleep in his own bed.

~

It was a lot easier to live without picking. 

The bed was there, the food was there, the shower was there, the chairs. And it had been fine, for a while. But then…

Bucky wasn’t sure. 

He…He knew who he thought Steve was, knew who Steve thought _he_ was, but…

Steve was starting to ask him things. Steve was starting to hint at things, and Bucky…

Bucky knew Steve, but part of him didn’t trust him.

Steve would speak before, and it was easy to agree with him. Steve would give him things and it was easy to take them. But Bucky knew what happened when people suggested things - people only suggested things to make sure you knew the right answer. People only gave choices when there was a right and wrong choice to make.

And Steve was _big_ now, Steve could hurt him now. The Missio- 

Uh, Steve wouldn’t, he’d proven that. But Ale- Se- Pier- the _blond man_ , the blond man, he wouldn’t hurt Bucky either. He didn’t say they were friends like Steve, and sometimes he got mad but Steve got mad too sometimes. The blond man only corrected him when he needed to be corrected, and Bucky was sure Steve wouldn’t do that, even if he needed it.

~

_The choice wasn’t easy. If he said ‘me’ then it hurt. If he said ‘her’ then it hurt. If he said ‘him,’ then he dreamed of screaming. If he said ‘me,’ he dreamed of screaming too._

He woke with it, didn’t know it was his until the lights were on and the blond man - Steve, it’s Steve - Steve was standing there, wild-eyed and gasping.

“Buck!” he said. “Bucky, are you, is…Are you okay?”

He was functional. In a way. He nodded yes.

“You can tell me if you want,” Steve said.

_“But I completed my objective.”_

_Furrowed brow, a glance aside._

_“Well I wish you’d mentioned it sooner,” Steve - no, not Steve, said, “we wouldn’t have killed him if we’d known you’d retrieved the drive. You should tell me what you know when it’s relevant, you’d save a lot of trouble that way.”_

“I dreamed a nightmare,” Bucky said, because that was what ‘you can tell me’ meant. 

Steve sagged, relieved, crossed to Bucky’s bed. Bucky had made him mission-ready with his lack of control. 

“Can I sit down?” Steve said.

_“May I sit down?”_

Bucky nodded and Steve did. Right answer. That was what ‘may I sit down’ meant. 

“You wanna talk about it? You don’t have to-”

_“-tell me, it’s up to you. Of course, without any corroborating reports, there aren’t really very many courses of action-”_

_“I did it.” A lie._

“Zola,” Bucky said, another lie. “I dreamed about Zola.”

Steve reached up and cupped his cheek.

_The slap stung but he didn’t move his head._

_“At least you’re honest.”_

“Thank you for telling me.”

~

They were little things. A bowl of ice-cream in a flavor he’d specified. A pillow he’d requested.

_Water. Please._

His wish granted, but nothing came without a price. Scratching backs and exchanging favors. 

_“Now I want you to do something for me,”_ and then headlines and flashes and pain. 

“How’s the ice-cream?” Steve said, smiling. “You always liked ice-cream.”

Bucky looked at Steve. He looked at the ice-cream.

He ate the ice-cream.

It tasted like ash and blood.

~

Steve knew, he _knew_ , that he could get answers if he asked the right question.

It always terrified him, of course - he wasn’t blind, and he wasn’t stupid.

“I don’t understand it, Sam,” Steve was saying, Bucky could hear him. “I don’t understand it, I’m trying to give him a choice but it feels like the more choice I give him, the fewer choices he wants to make.”

Sam shook his head, too.

“Every case is different,” he said. “Every time you find a new person, they got new problems. There’s no quick fix-”

“Jesus, Sam, you don’t think I know that? _I_ still got problems and nothin’ even happened to me.”

“Inaccurate.”

“Comparatively.”

“In. Accurate.” 

“Not the point,” Steve said, cutting the conversation off.

That was better, that…he could do that? Why wouldn’t he do that?

“My point is, I know there’s no quick fix. I know you go forward and backwards, it ain’t a straight line to ‘well again’ but he’s…I keep giving him choices.”

Bucky flinched, hid his head.

“You tried askin’ him why he don’t like to make ‘em?” Sam said.

Steve sighed, big and heavy.

"I don't want him to feel like I'm interrogating him."

~

“I’m just…I’m trying to help you, Buck,” Steve said, but it was like there was someone else wearing him.

_“We’re trying to help you, Soldier.”_

“The doctors said it might help to give you choices but you keep just pickin’ what I choose? Can…you tell me why?”

_“The technicians tell me you won’t make a choice. Explain yourself.”_

“I’m sorry,” Bucky said, and it was the wrong thing to say, to either of the blond men.

“That’s not,” Steve said. “You don’t…”

_“That’s not good enough.”_

***

Steve looked at Bucky.

“I’m making eggs,” he said, and Bucky nodded, head down. “Do you want eggs or bacon?”

“Eggs,” Bucky said. 

Steve stared at him.

“I want bacon,” Steve told him. “Think maybe you’d do better with the protein?”

Bucky’s head tilted. Listening.

“Maybe,” he said. “You got enough to go around?”

“I got enough,” Steve said, and _watched_ him.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Okay. I’ll have bacon.”

Steve made him bacon.

When they watched the television, he held up two DVDs. 

“What do you think?” he said, and he tried not to clench his jaw. “This one?”

“Have you seen them?” Bucky answered, and Steve looked at them. 

“Yes,” Steve told him, trying to be honest. “I prefer this one.”

“Why?” Bucky asked, and Steve narrowed his eyes a little. 

Bucky was staring at the cases but not looking at Steve.

“I prefer the cinematography,” Steve said. “But I know you like a pretty dame, how about the other one?”

“Nah,” Bucky said. “Put your one on. A treat for you.”

“You don’t want the one with the pretty dame?”

Bucky stared at the plastic. 

“I,” he said, “sure. Why not?”

Steve put the second DVD on. 

He made tea instead of coffee. He washed Bucky’s bedsheets on the Saturday instead the Friday. 

Every time he gave Bucky a choice, an option, Bucky waited for Steve to give his own opinion, his own preference. 

Steve could see him doing as he was told, even when it sounded like he was living his new life. 

~

The day Steve messed up, he messed up _bad_ , and he did it because things had gone badly wrong. 

He’d been clipped by a bullet, they’d lost valuable intel on an underground Hydra cell, and, when he got back, Bucky had showered and changed the sheets because it was eight in the evening on a Wednesday, and he always showered by eight, always changed the sheets on a Wednesday.

Bucky had made him food, because he always made food if Steve was getting back late from a mission, and hadn’t eaten, because he never ate without Steve telling him to fucking eat.

And there he was, when Steve walked in, standing in the kitchen, because he always stood stock-still in the kitchen to wait for Steve.

“How did it go?” he said, the same as he always said, because that’s what Steve would ask Bucky when Bucky spoke to his therapist. 

And Steve looked at him.

“It went shit, Buck, you think I’m wearing a sling for fun?”

Bucky blinked at him, didn’t show an ounce of emotion on his face, and Steve scrubbed his hand over his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry, it…” 

Bucky cocked his head and Steve gathered him close, pressed a kiss to Bucky’s temple because Bucky liked casual affection, didn’t he?

“I didn’t mean to yell at you, Buck, I’m sorry. Come on, let’s eat. It smells really good, what’d you make?”

“Burgers,” Bucky told him. “You like burgers.”

An explanation, not a conversation starter. Steve sat down.

“I like burgers,” Steve confirmed, and kind of hated himself for confirming it, couldn’t help the way his fingers curled into fists under the table. “You like burgers?”

“Good source of iron,” Bucky answered, without answering the question.

“Yeah they are,” Steve said. “You like ‘em?”

Bucky paused, halfway into his seat, just a for a moment, and then lowered himself the rest of the way.

“Long as you eat your fill, I’ll take anything,” he said.

Steve looked at the top of his head. He’d never really know what made him persist, especially knowing he was in a bad mood. Maybe it was that he’d never been patient, never been anything but stubborn, but it was out before he could stop it.

“Do you like burgers, Buck?”

Bucky looked at him, face blank. Steve kept his face blank, too.

“I mean, it depends,” Bucky said.

“Does it,” Steve said, and Bucky looked at his plate.

“I,” he said. “Sometimes.”

“Why did you make them, Buck?” Steve said.

“You said,” Bucky answered. “ ‘I like burgers. Maybe we’ll have burgers.’ You…”

Steve covered his eyes with his hand. He wouldn’t cry, he’d talk to Sam, he could get through tonight.

“Have you eaten, Bucky?”

“No,” Bucky answered. 

“Why?”

Bucky looked at Steve’s plate. At his own plate.

“Don’t you want me to-”

“Christ," Steve said, shook his head, he was so tired, "Jesus Christ, just eat your goddamn burger,” and Bucky looked at him, head snapping up, mouth falling open.

Shit, he shouldn’t have - that was an order, he shouldn’t have said that, Steve shook his head, feeling the panic rising in the back of his throat.

“Bucky-”

Bucky picked up his food and started to eat, and Steve was about to stop him, was about to tell him he didn’t need to do whatever Steve told him, but he realized Bucky was making noise. He was making little sounds - little moans and murmurs as he ate - and he was eating more quickly than Steve had seen him eat since he showed up on the doorstep.

“Bucky,” Steve said, and Bucky glanced up at him, still cramming food into his mouth. 

Steve couldn’t think of anything to say after that, and so Bucky didn’t stop eating until he was done.

~

“Bucky,” Steve murmured, when they were sitting on the couch. “You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?”

Bucky didn’t turn his head, but his shoulders hunched upward, and his jaw clenched.

“Yes,” he said. 

Bucky went back to his room.

***

Despite Bucky’s enjoyment of his burger, he didn’t behave that way again.

He went back to picking Steve’s choices, waiting for Steve’s initiative. 

Steve tried to encourage him more - bought him new shirts to pick from, brought him new films and new music to watch, gave him new options for meals that they’d never had as kids. Thai, Indian, Korean, Japanese, German, French, Spanish, Mexican, Italian - anything he could think of. He bought different types of hot chocolate when Bucky started joining Steve in having a cocoa before bedtime.

Bucky would pick, but he’d only pick what Steve picked. If Steve changed his mind, so would Bucky. If Steve didn’t change his mind but indicated that Bucky might prefer something different, Bucky would take what Steve suggested. It was maddening - Steve couldn’t figure out if Bucky was exercising his free will by doing it, or just adhering to old…programming. He hated that word.

***

Bucky looked awful. He hadn’t slept much because of nightmares, for the past night or two, and there were huge dark circles under his eyes, his skin looked pale.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Steve asked, and Bucky looked at him.

“What is there?” he said, and Steve cocked his head.

“Well there’s the usual, Buck,” he said. “Cereal, toast, you could have grapefruit or waffles?”

“Waffles,” Bucky said, picked the last thing on the list because it was easier.

_“We can put you back in or you can go for maintenance.”_

_“Maintenance.”_

Last thing on the list, it was easier. 

_“You can do it with the silencer or without-”_

_“Without.”_

Last on the list.

But Steve had gone very quiet.

“You,” Steve said, and Bucky looked at him. Steve looked uncomfortable. “You don’t like waffles, Buck.”

And Bucky shook his head. He never had, which was dumb because he liked pancakes. Used to drive Steve nuts.

“Then grapefruit.”

Steve was still staring.

“You don’t like grapefruit either,” he said, very quietly.

And Bucky didn’t know. He knew those things tasted not-like the things Steve would give him as rewards, things like bacon or ice-cream. He knew grapefruit and waffles were like eggplant and lime instead of like chocolate and fries.They'd just been last on the list and Bucky was tired. 

“Steve,” he said, and then he shook his head. “Can’t you please,” and then he shut his mouth. 

He wasn’t allowed to ask for things, was he? That was…Was that Steve? No, that was the blond man, wasn’t it? Someone allowed him to ask for things, it must be Steve who let him. Steve gave him too many choices and left him too many options. Steve was building a whole store, a whole reserve, of owed favors, wasn’t he? 

One of them was.

“Please what, Bucky?” he said, and his voice was low and hard, and Bucky shook his head.

“What’s,” Bucky whispered, and then he had to swallow hard to keep going. “For breakfast?”

Steve stared at him. For a very long few seconds, Steve stared at him.

“Cereal,” he said. “We have Froot Loops or Lucky Charms.” And then, after another long few seconds, Steve said, “You’re not going to pick one, are you? You’re going to ask me which is better and then you’ll have the other one.”

“Which…” his voice caught. “Is better?” Bucky said, and it hurt his throat to say it.

“Froot Loops,” Steve answered.

“Okay,” Bucky said. 

“Lucky Charms,” Steve said, and Bucky nodded. 

“Okay,” he said, and he couldn’t get away from it now, could he? 

Steve brought both boxes to the table and set them down in front of Bucky.

“You don’t have to listen to me,” Steve said.

_“Although I’d recommend that you do.”_

“You don’t have to pick the things I tell you to pick.”

“ _Although, really, I know what’s best for you. But the choice is yours, of course. We’ll always give you that. So tell me, do you go in there and get the information out of her, or do we put you in with the STRIKE team, and-”_

“-have Lucky Charms?”

“Please,” Bucky said, put his face in his hands because he wasn’t supposed to look, he wasn’t supposed to make eye contact, Steve always looked straight at him and he knew that he could but it hurt the back of his skull, “tell me which one to eat.”

“Why, Bucky?” Steve said, soothing, brushing the hair back off his forehead. “Sweetheart? It’s only cereal, isn’t it? They’re both good, it doesn’t matter which one you choose-”

“Yes it does,” Bucky muttered, trying to press the words inside his mouth with the heels of his hands, and he knew he’d messed up.

Because Steve could never leave well enough alone, and Steve never let things drop and Steve, Steve kept asking questions Bucky didn’t know the answer to.

“Why?” Steve said, and Bucky wanted to bite off his tongue but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t now, and Steve had asked, Steve had asked him why and Bucky knew why and so the words came out of their own accord.

“It always matters,” Bucky said. “It always matters which one I choose, which one of everything, I only choose because there isn’t a choice, you’re only asking because you already know-”

“No, Bucky, I’m not-”

“Not YOU!!” Bucky shouted. 

The silence after rang in Bucky’s ears, even the sound of Steve’s breathing sounded quiet beneath it, and he knew Steve’s breathing wasn’t quiet.

“What happens if you make the wrong choice, Bucky?” Steve asked.

_“And what happens if you make the wrong choice?”_

_“Punishment.”_

_“That’s right. You_ are _listening.”_

“Bucky?”

“Please,” Bucky said again. 

He wasn’t allowed to ask for things. 

“Bucky, it’s me. hat happens if you make the wrong choice?”

“Bad things happen,” he whispered, because it was true.

He wasn’t supposed to choose, but he did. He wasn’t supposed to get the chance, but they’d give it sometimes. 

“Bucky,” Steve said softly, always so quiet, so nice, everybody was always so _nice and quiet_. “You know that having no choice doesn’t make it your fault.”

“You’re not listening,” Bucky said, and it almost hurt him to say. He shouldn’t speak to Steve that way! How dare he speak to a superior off-

“I am listening,” Steve said, and that was right, alright.

“You are listening,” Bucky told him, and it felt easier to repeat, easier just to agree, it made the buzzing in his ears quiet down.

“Bucky-”

“Please,” he whispered. “Please just tell me what to eat. I’ll do whatever you need after just please-”

“Bucky,” Steve whispered back, and he looked horrified when Bucky managed to focus his gaze just past Steve’s temple. “Bucky, you’re not getting food in exchange for something-”

“I _know!”_ Bucky told him, because it was true, but it wasn’t true at the same time. “But that’s why…” God this was hard, it made his throat hurt and his eyes sting. “But that’s why people ask,” he said. “I can either,” and he shook his head. “Do you shoot the wife or the husband? Do you use the silencer or not? Do I do it to them or do they do it to me? There’s a right answer and I can’t, Steve, I _can’t choose the right answer if I don’t know what it is!”_

Steve was staring at him, eyes wide, color high on his cheeks, mouth open.

“The,” he whispered, “Froot Loops,” he said eventually, his voice unsteady. “Have the Froot Loops for breakfast.”

Bucky closed his eyes and _breathed_ , his head tipping back as he closed his eyes. It released the ache in his chest so fast he could have cried.

“I’ll have the Froot Loops,” he said. “Thank you, Steve.”

Steve nodded.

“ ’Kay,” he whispered.

~

“Do you understand that I’m not going to make you hurt people?” Steve said softly, holding onto Bucky.

Bucky was wrapped in a blanket. Steve hadn’t made him choose it. 

“Yes,” Bucky said, because he did.

Steve wasn’t the blond man.

“Do you understand that I don’t give you things in exchange for other things?”

“Yes,” Bucky said again. 

It didn’t make any difference to his mind. His mind didn’t want to pick. Didn’t want multiple suggestions. 

“Would you prefer it if I didn’t give you a choice?”

And Bucky closed his eyes. 

He knew the answer. He knew the right answer. He knew the answer Steve wanted to hear. 

And then Steve moved his arm from around Bucky’s shoulder, and sat forward, so that he could see Bucky’s face.

“Wait,” he said, “Never mind that, never mind, just…hold on. Wait.”

Bucky looked at him. 

“You,” he said, “okay, you don’t like choices.”

Bucky looked at him. 

“You told me that,” Steve says. “So I know that, you don’t have to confirm it. Jesus this is difficult, sorry. You. Want me to tell you what to do.”

Bucky looked at him.

Steve looked back at him. 

And then Steve lifted his head. 

“You want to be given orders, not choices,” he said. 

Bucky blinked. 

“You want to be told, not asked. Answer me.”

“Yes,” Bucky said and Steve’s eyebrows went up, his mouth opened.

“You won’t tell me if you don’t like something. Answer me.”

“No,” Bucky said, and it made his chest feel funny, made his stomach feel strange too.

“I have a rule,” Steve said quietly. “You will answer with the truth when I ask you a question. Do you understand?”

“I understand,” Bucky answered.

“Do you,” he said, and then frowned. “Do you understand the difference between like and dislike? Answer me.”

“Yes,” Bucky said, and he searched Steve’s face, felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. 

“Are you mentally capable of forming opinions based on that preference?” 

“Yes,” Bucky said, and he nodded this time too, hope welling up in his chest. 

“You were given choices to confuse you,” Steve says. “To manipulate you into making decisions. Is this an accurate assessment of the information you’ve given me? Answer me.”

“Yes,” Bucky said, and it sounded pathetic to his own ears but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help it, it felt like Steve was so _close_ , felt like all Steve had to do was keep going.

“You would prefer that I give you orders,” Steve said. “I would prefer that you give me preferences. If…Bucky, if…”

Steve wet his lips.

“Regardless of your answers,” Steve said slowly, “you will not be punished for answering my questions. But I know that you know that, and that it makes no difference. But I…”

Steve shook his head, turned away.

“Buck, I can’t just tell you to do things! I won’t always know what you want to do, I can’t just…make you. What if you don’t want to do it?”

Bucky felt like he might cry. You’re so close, he wanted to say. It’s right there. 

“I,” Bucky said, “the right answer.”

And Steve cocked his head. 

“Can we try,” he said, “to get better at helping you choose? I promise, if you tell me a preference, it won’t affect what I do. I’ll still make the decisions for you. Will you try to improve?”

Bucky blinked, and Steve squared his shoulders, chewed the inside of his cheek for a long while, looked Bucky up and down.

“I’ll give you orders,” he said, “and you and I will work on helping you make decisions. Do you understand-”

“Yes,” Bucky said, and he could feel his face then, he could feel the way it crumpled, could feel the way his face was hot and his eyes were stinging and he pushed his face into his hands to hide it. “Thank you. Yes.”

“Jesus, Bucky,” Steve whispered, and pulled him close again. 

Bucky couldn’t choose to be held, he didn’t want to be asked to make that decision - but he was so glad Steve had made it for him.

***

“Breakfast’s in five, it’s bacon and eggs,” Steve said. “Your decision today will be which type of hot chocolate you drink before bed.”

Bucky turned his face into the pillow and pulled the quilt up over his head.

Steve pulled it off again, cold air and bright light.

“Get up, use the bathroom, brush your teeth. You’ll shower after breakfast.”

Bucky had breakfast naked. Steve paused halfway through pouring a coffee. Then he said,

“After your shower, get dressed. Use a shirt, pants, socks, underwear, and wear the first one you see when you open the closet and your drawers. In future, attend breakfast in your underwear or your pajamas according to ambient temperature. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Bucky said, felt the corner of his mouth tugging upward. 

Steve pressed his mouth to the top of Bucky’s head as he passed. 

“We say grace in this house,” he said, sitting down, and Bucky sat up straight and pressed his hands together.

~

“Your decision tomorrow will be what cereal you want for breakfast,” Steve told him at lunch.

Lunch was tacos because Steve liked tacos. Bucky understood preference. Bucky’s preference was beef. They were eating fish, because it was Friday.

Even though Bucky's preference was beef. He tried not to hope too much. 

“We have froot loops or lucky charms. I will be eating waffles. You will not be getting waffles because I only have enough ingredients for waffles for me.”

And then Steve looked at him. 

Bucky knew that wasn’t true. Bucky knew, just because of how much Steve ate, that if he wanted to make waffles for Bucky then he could, there’s be enough. But, even though he knew, it…didn’t change that his heart rate stayed down and his tacos tasted like tacos and his head didn’t ache and his chest didn’t get tight. He wasn’t not-getting waffles because he didn’t like them.

“Yes,” Bucky said, and Steve smiled, and then his smile wobbled.

“Good,” he said, looking down at his plate.

~

“There are two,” Steve said. “If you don’t choose, I’ll punish you. Your punishment will be that you still have to choose tomorrow.”

And Bucky stared at the two containers on the counter top. His palms were sweating, his heart was racing.

“Buh,” he said. _Both..?_

One was white chocolate. One was chocolate orange. 

And then something funny happened.

Bucky was going to pick the orange because it was closer to the human arm but his tongue said,

“Neither,” and then.“I want neither?”

_The blond man frowned, opened his mouth and said-_

“Fine,” Steve said. “Warm milk it is, go and get into your pajamas.”

Bucky looked at him, mouth open.

“Confirm?” he said, and Steve blinked.

“Go and get into your pajamas,” Steve answered, enunciating clearly.

Bucky pressed his lips together, nodded.

“Yes,” he said, and he went to go get into his pajamas.

~

Steve brought him a glass of warm milk. 

Steve brought him a glass of _warm milk_. A thing he’d picked. Not a choice he’d been given.

Could it really be that easy?

“Get into bed,” he said when he noticed Bucky sitting on the floor. “Floors are for sitting, bed is for sleeping. It’s better for your arm.”

He put the glass of milk on the nightstand.

“When you’ve finished your milk, put out your light and go to sleep.”

He pressed his mouth to the top of Bucky’s head again.

“Yes,” Bucky said.

He didn’t specify how long Bucky should take to drink his milk. So. Bucky. 

Couldn’t get it wrong.

***

In the morning, Bucky was presented with the two colorful boxes.

“Neither will not suffice,” Steve said. “If you don’t choose, I’ll choose for you and you’ll still have to choose tomorrow. Standard punishment.”

Bucky took the Lucky Charms because they were closer to his flesh hand, but Steve put a hand on his arm.

“Why?” he said. 

“Be…” Bucky answered, the words hard as his flesh hand twitched, “…cause…”

“Pour a bowl of Lucky Charms and milk. Sit down and eat them for breakfast.”

Bucky nodded. 

“Yes,” he said. 

“Your decision for tomorrow will be how many pillows you want on your bed. I will be washing your bedsheets and then you can have all of your pillows back, or you can choose a number.”

Bucky had four on there currently but he only used one of them. He only needed one of them. But if he said he only needed one then Steve might not let him have any of the other three back and then if he ever needed more than one-

Steve wouldn’t keep the others from him.

Bucky would choose two instead, just in case.

~

That evening, when Steve put the things on the counter, it was chocolate orange or white chocolate.

“Neither,” Bucky said.

“Warm milk it is,” Steve said again.

~

The next day, Bucky kept two pillows. He only used one. And he didn’t have to pick his cereal or his bedtime drink.

***

It wasn’t hard to fall back into old habits and, to start with, Steve didn’t like them.

He liked Bucky to sit on couches and chairs, he liked Bucky to make eye contact. Bucky couldn’t tell him - he couldn’t say things like that, it would be a preference and he couldn’t disobey if Steve picked it - but Steve would try and coax him up, wouldn’t you like to sit on the couch, Bucky?

Your choice tomorrow is to choose the floor or the couch, and so he chose. 

And when he picked the floor, Steve stared at him. Stared and stared, and then he put his hand on Bucky’s head, and Bucky sat quietly.

“Okay,” Steve whispered. “Okay.”

~

He took his showers and got dressed and did laundry at the same time all the time. Routine, unchanging - he didn’t have to accommodate new requests or deviate to repay a favor owed. 

He ate what Steve made, or made what Steve told him to, and sometimes he put cheese on his burger, sometimes he put guac on his tacos. Sometimes he didn’t.

“Your decision tomorrow,” Steve told him, every day, “will be-” something new, something the same, it didn’t matter.

Every day. Your decision tomorrow will be, and if he didn’t, the punishment was to pick the day after. He couldn’t get away from it. 

And yet, somehow, that also meant that it was never right there in front of him too.

***

It wasn’t the easiest thing to tell Bucky what to do. For starters, Steve knew Bucky had never liked being told what to do when they were younger, and Steve knew that even though it was the opposite now. He’d let Steve argue and roughhouse but doing what he was told?

Naw. He’d do as _asked_ in order to charm, but orders came from COs who weren’t Steve, and nobody else. He’d strip a rifle if Phillips ordered him to, but met every one of Steve’s orders with a wry smile and a rough chuckle outside of combat. Inside of combat, you just went with the guy who had the best idea, and that was usually Steve just because of how fast his brain worked.

But now…

Steve loved him, that much was certain. He’d always loved Bucky Barnes, of course. And Bucky Barnes was somebody else now. A very quiet, morbid thing in the back of his mind told him Bucky Barnes had died, this was somebody new. But Steve still loved him.

Bucky didn’t like favors. He couldn’t ask for the things that he wanted. Steve only knew he could still prefer one thing over another because he knew Bucky couldn’t help but follow orders now. If Steve said “tell me the truth” then Bucky would do it. 

That was why he always told Bucky to choose a cereal, and not 'pick your favorite' - if he told Bucky to pick his favorite, Bucky would do it, and know that Steve knew it, and then he’d never be able to trust that cereal didn’t need a corresponding favor in return.

It was a fucking minefield, so at odds with the Bucky Steve had known. But Steve loved him still. Steve had always loved him.

The night everything really changed, it was something Steve should have seen coming. 

***

Bucky had been choosing the couch and a cuddle instead of the floor and a movie. He’d picked Steve’s preferences for a couple of things, chosen shirts Steve had complimented. He didn’t do it with everything, or Steve would have noticed, but he came up with a problem at perhaps three in the morning, on one of the rare nights he was spending in with Steve.

Worse, when he tried to get up without Steve noticing, Steve woke.

“You okay, Buck?” he mumbled.

“Y-” Bucky said, and then bit his tongue just for a moment. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just. Y’know.”

And, to his mortification, Steve sat up, took stock of him in his stripy pajamas and said,

“Oh. Well.” And then, presumably because he was barely awake, he said, “S'ok, just take care of it and come back to bed.”

So Bucky did. He got up. He went to the bathroom. And in the year that he’d been home, nothing had felt better than spilling over his fist while he knelt on the cold tiles and took what he’d been given permission to have. 

~

Steve didn’t really figure it out for a long few days - the best days of Bucky’s recovery. Certainly, once Steve discovered him, Bucky was sure he wouldn’t have better days, just because of how horrified Steve looked when he realized.

After the first time, Bucky slept in Steve’s bed every night, just so that he could get Steve’s permission when it happened again but, for whatever reason, rolling over and going back to sleep that night turned into waking back up and wondering where the hell Bucky was - which was obviously blatant enough to Steve when Bucky came back flushed and panting.

“Hi,” Bucky said, and he watched Steve’s gaze slide downward, watched his eyes widen.

“Bucky?” he said, and he sounded sickened, and Bucky felt his shoulders tighten, felt the hair rise on the back of his neck.

“Steve,” he said, and Steve just stared up at him from the bed, just stared.

Bucky could see him figuring it out.

_“Isn’t that better? Doesn’t that feel nice? Now if I scratch your back-”_

But Steve didn't say that. Steve stared and stared at him, and then wet his lips.

“Your orders are to say no if I’m incorrect,” Steve said, breathless. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Bucky said. 

“My name is James Barnes.”

Bucky frowned.

“No.”

Steve nodded.

“You want me to give you orders.”

“Yes,” Bucky said.

“Choices and preferences used to mean there was a right answer to choose,” Steve said, “and you want me to give you orders even though you know that’s no longer the case.”

Bucky swallowed hard, fingers twitching.

“Yes,” he said. 

“Have you developed a preference,” Steve said, “with regard to whether or not you prefer sexual gratification alone or with a partner?”

Bucky bit his lip, nodded.

“Yes,” he said. 

And then Steve looked at him, and spoke very carefully, and very clearly.

“Your preference is to practice sexual gratification alone.”

Bucky stared at him, heart racing in his chest, hands shaking.

He swallowed hard, wet his lips too.

“No,” he said.

***

The first time they tried, it…went okay. Steve didn’t take Bucky’s preferences into account and told him to go jerk off in the bathroom.

Bucky came back pink and glowy and sat by Steve’s feet with his head in Steve’s lap. Steve was hard too, of course but, even though Bucky looked hopefully at the shape of Steve’s dick in his pants, Steve said “No,” and Bucky sat quietly on the floor with Steve’s hand in his hair instead.

~

The second time they tried it, Steve didn’t take Bucky’s preferences into account and told him to go jerk off in the bathroom.

Bucky came back pink and glowy and Steve wasn’t there, and so he went looking. Steve was lying on his bed, jerking off. When he saw Bucky, he said, 

“Bucky,” in a voice that was high and thin, and then he clenched his teeth together. “Close the door and go away.”

Bucky did. 

~

“Your preference is to watch me,” Steve said, and Bucky nodded, watched the television screen carefully.

“Yes.”

He heard Steve wet his lips.

“I don’t care what you want,” he said, and Bucky didn’t even do it on purpose, he just kind of sank sideways and mashed his face into Steve’s shoulder.

 _I love you,_ he mouthed against Steve’s shoulder.

“I,” Steve answered. “I…don’t care…what you want.”

And Bucky could hear what he meant by it.

***

The bathroom door was locked.

The bathroom door was locked and Bucky frowned at it - Steve was coming down the corridor after him and he-

Oh God, he couldn’t follow the order. 

He couldn’t follow the order, the bathroom door was locked. 

“Why are you out here?” Steve said when he caught Bucky disobeying and, this, no, this wasn’t fair, this wasn’t Steve, wait, he-

Steve reached past him and tried the handle.

“Huh,” he said. “Locked. How about that? Guess you’ll have to go somewhere else.”

Bucky stared at him.

“I,” he said. “Confirm?”

“Go jerk off in the bedroom. And stay on the other side of the bed from me. Got it?”

“Yes,” Bucky said, breathless. “Yes!”

~

Afterwards, Steve said,

“I want to be held, come over here.”

Bucky looked at him, unsure.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I ask whether you wanted to?” he said, and he sounded mad, and Bucky scrabbled over the mattress as fast as he could.

And so they went on like that.

“I’m tired,” Steve told him. “You do it.”

And Steve’s cock was thick and hot in his hand.

“I’m going get rid of yours,” Steve said, reaching for Bucky’s. “Can’t have you distracted, can we?”

Or else, Steve would say,

“My hands are sore from drawing, I’m going to use my mouth and you do what you want, I don’t care.”

Or he’d say,

“I don’t trust you where I can’t see you,”

Or he’d say,

“I need to check you’re doing it right.”

***

“Your preference,” Steve said, “is to not participate.”

And Bucky, whose breath was short and whose eyes stung clung as hard as he could while Steve’s clever hands did whatever Steve wanted.

“No,” he gasped.

***

“Now,” Steve said.

And Bucky was close but he wasn’t that close, wasn’t close enough, it was going to take longer than that.

“I said now!” Steve said again, and Bucky tried, strained his body and pushed himself forward.

Steve gripped him tighter, pushed him harder.

“I gave you an order, soldier,” Steve shouted, and Bucky felt his mouth drop open as pleasure curled up around his nerves, “you fucking do as I tell you when I fucking tell you!”

And Bucky couldn’t have held it back if he tried.

***

Out of everything, Bucky supposed, it was hilarious that that made it easy.

Years, decades, of subjugation, and he’d only be happy when he was being shouted at. Steve had nearly caught hell for it from Sam, of course - the first time Sam had let himself in and heard Steve screaming at Bucky, he’d been about ready to sock Steve. 

Not least because he’d been shouting at Bucky about how his meal was ready and if Bucky didn’t fucking want it it’d go in the fucking trash.

Bucky had walked into his back when he stopped dead on his way into the main room and started stuttering.

“Sam! Uh, n- NO- No, wait, this, Sam, I’m not, uh-”

“Hi!” Bucky beamed instead. “Steve made me food!”

“Steve better have a damn good explanation about what I just heard,” Sam said, and Bucky laughed, scratched his fingernails through Steve’s hair.

“He does,” he said. “He’ll have to give it to you ‘cause I can’t talk about it.”

The last he sing-songed, and Steve gaped at him. 

“Well how about that,” he said, and then Sam cleared his throat and Steve had to explain.

Steve didn’t explain _this_ \- the way Bucky gets off with Steve telling him what to do, directing him like a porno, barking orders like he doesn’t have time to waste.

Ale- Sec- Pie- The blond man never did things like this. The blond man used to treat him a lover, like a child (aren’t those two things awful to realize together) and stroke his hair and call him pet names and ask him how he felt and it took a while, it took trial and error, but they’re here now.

“I love you,” Bucky was able to say these days, if he was having a good day, and, oh, Steve’s face, his gorgeous face, 

“Shut the fuck up, soldier,” he muttered, and Bucky knew it meant the same thing. 

Steve kissed him “to shut you up” and Bucky grabbed at his head and arched up against him, and Steve barely looked at him.

He liked to be face to face when they fucked, but that was fine because Bucky never got that from any of the others. None of the others had wanted to see his face.

Steve told him things like, to spread his legs because his hips were too wide to get close, that he couldn’t tell if the soldier is listening unless he looked at him, that he wanted the soldier to come because it felt good on his cock. 

The thing that amazed Bucky most about it was, he knew Steve was lying. He knew Steve said “do you think I give a fuck?” because “I love you” would upset Bucky, he knew Steve kissed him because he cared about him. It was difficult, Bucky knew that too. But because Steve did it, because played his part, Bucky didn’t have to play his.

“I love you,” he said again, “and I know,” and Steve shook his head, looked away but didn’t slow down in the slightest, jolting Bucky every time he drove home, “I know you love me.”

Steve gritted his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.

 _“Mmh_ mhh,” he said, enough of a no that it didn’t set Bucky off, but more of a warning - and not a warning for Bucky this time.

“I know it hurts,” Bucky told him, stroking Steve’s sweat-soaked hair back off his forehead - he always to work hard because he couldn’t be too gentle, and Bucky was a supersoldier, so a lot more felt gentle to Bucky than might feel gentle to someone else.

Because it did hurt - sometimes when Steve shouted at him, Bucky could see that he didn’t want to. When he told Bucky he didn’t care if Bucky talked about his nightmares, when he told Bucky to abide by his rules or get out, Bucky could see it in his eyes.

So Bucky had been working hard.

He’d been standing in front of the mirror and practicing the words. He’d been putting two shirts on the bed in the morning, and _picking_ one. He’d been waiting until Steve wasn’t looking, and putting sugar in his coffee, and he’d been telling himself the things he couldn’t hear from Steve.

_Steve cares. Steve loves me. Steve wants what’s best for me._

“I’ve been home two years,” he said, and Steve breathed hard through his nose, always did when Bucky called it ‘home.’

“Shut up,” he whispered. “You hear me? You get it through that thick skull.”

“I know,” Bucky said. 

Steve hung his head, Steve’s lashes were damp.

“I been working hard on something,” Steve didn’t let up, “I’m having a good day,” Bucky said. “You can tell me.”

“I,” Steve said, and it _hurt,_ Bucky could _hear_ it in his voice.

“You can tell me,” Bucky said again, and Steve bared his teeth and groaned through them.

“Bucky,” he said, and Bucky knew why - Steve had set him off accidentally once or twice before, but not for months.

“Tell me you love me-”

“I love you,” Steve gasped, and when Bucky didn’t shove him off, when Bucky didn’t stop him, he stopped himself - he put his head down on Bucky’s shoulder and couldn’t move any more and just shook while Bucky held him, and that was alright. Bucky was having a good day. “I love you.”

***

“DID YOU THINK WHEN I SAID FIVE MINUTES IT WAS FOR MY FUCKING HEALTH?” Steve shouted. “GET YOUR ASS IN HERE NOW!”

And Bucky wandered in barefoot in his boxers because it was warm enough to sleep in them now.

He stood on his toes for a kiss as he passed Steve.

“I look like a goddamn waitress to you?” Steve muttered, and Bucky smiled as he sat down.

“Smells amazing,” he said.

Steve looked straight at him, eyes half closed, mouth tugged up at the corner.

“You think I give a damn what you think, Soldier? What do I look like to you?” he said.

And Bucky laughed.

“Yeah,” he said, “you giant sap, I know you do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky comes back to Steve after the events of TWS and, for a while, recovers well. But then, as the PTSD sets in, he realizes that Pierce and Hydra treated him in a way they convinced him was 'nice' and 'fair.' His 'rewards' would be given in exchange for favors, he'd sometimes be allowed to 'choose' who to kill. Subsequently, any kindness feels like a trap. So Steve learns to talk to him as though he's another nameless soldier, to shout at him during the sex, and gradually Bucky learns how to make choices for himself without always feeling like those preferences will be used against him.
> 
> Dubious consent tag is just because Steve sounds like (and sometimes says) he doesn't want sex, even though this is a ruse to placate Bucky's paranoia.


End file.
